


Lines of Code

by Yotsubadancesintherain5



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yotsubadancesintherain5/pseuds/Yotsubadancesintherain5
Summary: Regulations were not made easier by those trying to cross the marigold bridge without a photo.





	Lines of Code

The day that Guadalupe died was a blistering hot one. She had taken the bus, relishing the cool air within. She was about to open up her textbook for a coding class when something huge and metal collided into her seat. Guadalupe died instantly and didn’t know the cause until she woke up in the Land of the Dead.

According to the worker there, another bus had crashed into the bus she was riding in; she stared at her shaking, newly bony hands.

“No, no, I will be late for class!” Guadalupe said when the worker stopped talking.

He smiled forlornly. “I’m sorry, señorita.”

The small worry evaporated when she realized that her family and friends would find her dead. She buried her face in her hands but it all hurt too much to even cry.

“It’ll be okay, señorita, your great-grandparents will be here soon-“

“I want my mamá and papá,” Guadalupe said behind her hands, her voice cracking.

“Oh, how can I say this in a way that won’t make you feel worse,” he said. “Look here, you’re good with computers, right? We have a job opening, if you’re interested.”

The allure of something familiar made Guadalupe take the job.

-

A few months later, when Día de los Muertos arrived, Guadalupe was able to take a chance to visit her living family, though it was night when she arrived. The photo of her on the ofrenda was taken from her high school graduation. Looking at the happy photo, she never would’ve guessed that the supplementary summer classes would result in her death.

 

The gifts for her were there, taking her mind off her death. There was a new book of the series she loved, given to her by her friends; sweet pork and still warm churros by her grandparents.

 

Guadalupe found her prized notebook, filled with lines of code, in an offering from her parents. She picked it up and held it tightly before noticing something else in the basket.

 

It was her childhood rosary, the purple beads still bright and pretty. The pendant and the crucifix had broken off long ago, and they rested next to the loop and of the centerpiece.

 

Guadalupe ran a finger over the smooth, glass centerpiece. It showed a picture of her namesake and etched on the back of the centerpiece was, “Nuestra Señorita de Guadalupe.”

 

She smiled and picked up the broken rosary and put it in its rightful place; her front pocket.

 

Guadalupe put down the other gifts and walked to her parents’ room. They were asleep and she went to curl up in between then. She could pretend for just a moment.

 

But a few moments later, Guadalupe got back up, gathered her offerings, and returned to the Land of the Dead.

 

When she arrived back at work Guadalupe found her co-worker, Chavela, giggling.

 

“What happened?” Guadalupe asked as she settled into her seat.

 

“You missed it,” Chavela replied, covering her mouth. “Do you know of the man that always tries to cross the marigold bridge even though he has no photo on the ofrenda?”

 

Guadalupe shook her head.

 

“His name is Héctor – oh, bonito niño. But! He tried to ride a bike over the marigold bridge! He knocked me over!”

 

Chavela burst into laughter again, just as one of the workers four rows down tried to shout over her that Héctor died from choking on a _chorizo_. Guadalupe was glad that she never liked the texture of chorizos.

 

“He was very kind,” Chavela continued,” He stopped right then and helped me up. ‘Are you okay, señorita?”

 

Guadalupe had to laugh at the older woman’s impression of the man.

 

“He got off with a warning; would you like to see his photo?”

 

Guadalupe nodded and scooted her chair behind Chavela’s desk. As she watched the computer load the picture the oldest worker there walked by and said, gummy and almost unclear, “Ernesto.”

 

“Yes, Ignacio, Ernesto de la Cruz is performing tonight,” Chavela said kindly.

 

Guadalupe watched the old man lumber away before Chavela explained, “He lost all of his teeth long ago. He saw Ernesto de la Cruz before he got famous!”

 

“Wow.” Ernesto de la Cruz was the kind of musician her father liked. Guadalupe found him rather cheesy.

 

Chavela’s computer suddenly blacked out, a stream of green code going upwards. Guadalupe said, without thinking, “It really is dead technology.”

 

-

 

The following Día de los Muertos Guadalupe got to meet Héctor.

 

She was struck by how young he looked. She never took biology past what she needed and never took anatomy but one look at those bones, though yellowed, showed a young man. Guadalupe looked at his folder and saw his age, twenty-one; her suspicions were right.

 

“So, you tried to cross the bridge using a winged alebrije… an eagle? You are lucky that you did not fall and break apart!”

 

“Ah, luck, yes, I don’t have much,” Héctor said, swiveling his chair around. “I believe that was my last luck! I’d rather win a fresh batch of pan dulce!”

 

He laughed, briefly, before bringing his hands to the table.

 

“But seriously, mija,” he continued, “I need to cross that bridge! I can pay you back, ah…”

 

Héctor noticed the centerpiece hanging out of Gudalupe’s front pocket.

 

“I know some people that can fix your rosary,” he said. He leaned back confidently. “So you bring my photo to your family’s ofrenda and I fix your rosary!”

 

Guadalupe shook her head. She had been warned about people requesting this.

 

“Lo siento, señor. I’m too busy to go back to mi familia.”

 

Héctor bought the lie. His face fell before a smile easily crossed it.

 

“It’s no problem, mija!” he exclaimed. “I’m sure mi familia will put up my photo next year!”

 

It was said with optimism that made Guadalupe’s non-existent heart drop. She decided to not do the plan to give him a big plate of chorizos the next time he ended up here.

 

Chavela said it was a rude plan anyway.

 

-

 

After three years here, Guadalupe did not always see Héctor’s ways of getting across the marigold bridge. Sometimes it was so busy that she did not know about them until the end of the day, when food and drink offerings were shared and stories were exchanged.

 

Sandwiched in-between scanning jams, arguing families, or general incompetency, it was a comfort that Héctor was always thinking of more elaborate, interesting ways to cross that marigold bridge.

 

This particular year Guadalupe was walking out and heard a guard say that Héctor had dressed up as Frida Kahlo but the scanners worked against him.

 

Guadalupe chuckled to herself as she left. She wondered what next year would bring.

 

-

 

She did not get back to the Land of the Dead until it was late. Guadalupe was relieved to see her mother smiling and her father dancing again.

 

She carried an armful of gifts. There was last volume of her favorite book series, with notes from her friends inside and a huge helping of chicken fajitas from her grandparents. But the one from her parents was truly special.

 

It was her mother’s chocolate pound cake, which she rarely baked. The preparation that went into it was perfection. Guadalupe would have this particular delicacy, wrapped up in a pretty purple box, especially savored.

 

Guadalupe dropped off the gifts at the home she shared with her great-grandparents. They doted on her and called her an angelita when she presented the chicken fajitas. She left the house with more food than what she arrived with.

 

She found chaos at her work. People were chattering loudly and became dead silent when she entered.

 

“¿Qué paso?” she asked awkwardly.

 

Guadalupe got an explosion of incoherent answers. She only heard snippets over the crowd.

 

“The one time I could go-“

 

“And the bell-“

 

“I destroyed my albums-“

 

“That-“

 

“He threw a _child_ to his death-“

 

Chavela squeezed her way through the crowd and grabbed Guadalupe’s shoulder.

 

“I will tell you!”

 

-

 

They found a quiet office and Guadalupe settled the food onto the desk. She watched as Chavela shook her hands, as if to try and pinpoint a place to start the story.

 

“Ah,” Chavela said, “Dios mío. You have missed something very big.”

 

She closed her hands into fists and Guadalupe could see her teeth grit.

 

“Ernesto de la Cruz,” Chavela said through her teeth.

 

“Was he forgotten?” Guadalupe guessed uneasily. It seemed impossible but Héctor’s antics has proven that possibilities were endless.

“If only that would happen!” Chavela shouted. “He will be remembered forever as a murderer!”

 

“Mu-“ Guadalupe’s word turned into a gasp. “I-I heard, a boy. Did he murder a boy?”

 

Chavela’s teeth got even tighter. “He tried! He threw that poor niño off the roof, he-“

 

Air hissed between her teeth but Guadalupe felt a bubble of relief rise up in her. “Who – who did he murder, then?”

 

“That bonito niño,” Chavela exclaimed, “He murdered Héctor!”

 

The bubble burst.

 

Guadalupe could only numbly nod in response to Chavela’s explanation of what happened that night. Every detail made Guadalupe feel worse.

 

At the end the only thing she could muster in response was, “I’m glad I didn’t give him that place of chorizos.”

 

“It was rude,” Chavela said, a little admonishment in her voice.

 

Guadalupe got up and almost stumbled from her seat. “I have to go.”

 

She ran from the office and through the wave of chaos. She found his folder and perused over the information. She scoured her memory of Chavela’s story, trying to figure out if she should go to the Shantytown.

 

She remembered that Chavela said that Héctor would go back with the Riveras, the well known family that made shoes.

 

Guadalupe made up her mind then.

 

-

 

She returned home, wrote a note and retrieved her gift. She kept it safe in her arms as she made it to that house. It was dark from the outside, and hadn’t been swarmed yet; it was too early.

 

Guadalupe noticed a big bouquet of flowers on the edge of the gate pedestal. Purple hyacinths tied off with a beautiful ribbon, with a note from the orchestra that would play at Ernesto de la Cruz’s show.

 

She opted to put her gift on the other ledge, sticking her own apology note in the gap in the clasp of the box. Guadalupe nodded once and left for home.

 

She hoped  Héctor would enjoy the chocolate pound cake.


End file.
